


Din'anshiral

by elvhenphoenix



Category: Dragon Age (Video Games), Dragon Age - All Media Types, Dragon Age: Inquisition
Genre: Angst, F/M, In Your Heart Shall Burn, Other, Solitude
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2016-05-23
Updated: 2016-05-23
Packaged: 2018-06-10 05:35:41
Rating: Not Rated
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,248
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/6941950
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/elvhenphoenix/pseuds/elvhenphoenix
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Written for Direstone as part of a fic/art swap for Round 5 of DAFicSwap! Had a lot of fun with this, and Shanriel Lavellan is a pleasure to write!</p><p>Set in the immediate aftermath of 'In Your Heart Shall Burn'.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Din'anshiral

As she staggers through the snow, she can hear a wolf howling.

It’s a lonely sound, full of desolation, and as she moves slowly through the mountain pass it echoes around her.

 _Where are you?_ The wolf seems to cry. _Where did you go?_

The wind is picking up again, and it blows cold flakes of snow into her face. Too cold, biting like tiny steel knives into her face and neck and hands.

She shivers, clutching at the remnants of her bow as if it will provide her some protection against the harshness of the Frostbacks. The string is snapped, the bow unbent, nothing more than a piece of wood now, but she can’t seem to let it go, can’t forget the fire and the ruin and Corypheus.

A monster, a man no longer, all red ragged crystals and broken blurred edges, a silhouette that stood amongst the snow as Haven burned. The fire feels real again, her mind burning as she remembers, and she falls to her knees, clutching her head. There are screams echoing in her ears as smoke from burning buildings fills her lungs.

_Too much can’t breathe stop stop stop stop_

She crumples into the snow as her mind pulls back towards the battle, unable to stop herself remembering.

_Smoke filled the air, and ash fell like rain as Shanriel stood, an empty quiver on her back and her broken bow in her hand. She could taste salt and copper in her mouth, blood dripping down her face from a wound on her forehead._

_In front of her stood the Elder One. A figure who had plagued her nightmares since the Conclave, a mage that sought to crack the sky into a thousand pieces and lay waste to the world._

_‘No more,’ he said in a rusted voice. Power seemed to radiate from him, seemed to crackle in the very air around her. Behind her came a great rushing of wings, and she could suddenly feel the heated, vile breath of the Blighted dragon that the magister controlled._

_So she stood, alone against the might of Corypheus._

_‘Whatever you are, I am not afraid,’ she spat at the magister. She did not feel afraid, it was true – the moment the dragon had attacked, a part of Shanriel had known she would not see past the dawn. But she would have saved the people of Haven, would have saved Cullen, and that was all that mattered._

_He would be safe._

The thought of him makes her want to weep, and she screams, a ragged noise torn from her throat and carried on the wind. A name.

She’s not shivering any more. The cold of the snow has gone, replaced by the strangest sensation of warmth.

She can remember what her brother told her, _don’t let the cold disappear or so will you_ , and her heart clenches at the memory of him, a kind smile to her before he was lost forever.

  
She can’t feel her nose, and she reaches with a shaking finger to touch it, curling more tightly about herself when she can’t find it on her face. The wind blows again, and snow begins to rest on her shoulders, a cold blanket to help her sleep evermore, here alone amongst the mountains and the wolves.

The memories of Haven are warm. Yes, go to the memories of fire and ash. Eyes closed.

_A monstrous claw grasped her wrist, pulling her high above the ground, and Shanriel could only struggle helplessly. A laugh bubbled from Corypheus, slow and thick like oil._

_‘Beg that I succeed,’ he snarled, ‘For I have seen the throne of the gods, and it was empty!’ Rage darkened his eyes, and in one fluid motion he threw her away, as one might throw a rag doll. Shanriel cried out as she landed against the wooden trebuchet, and a sharp spear of pain through her side told her she’d broken at least two ribs. Dazed, she could only focus on the jagged red shards that pierced Corypheus’ skin, and they glinted in the firelight as both dragon and magister moved towards her._

_‘The Anchor is permanent,’ the magister said in disgust. ‘You have spoilt it with your stumbling.’_

_The dragon seemed to react to its masters wrath, rumbling with anger. A guttural hiss escaped as it took another heaving pace towards her._

_Shanriel said nothing, did nothing except stare steadily back at Corypheus, refusing to give him the satisfaction of her fear._

_The magister’s lip curled. ‘So be it.’_

  
For a moment, it is as if the twisted monster is standing over her, and she flinches, hiding her face in the snow as the wolf howls again.

She is still alone in the mountain pass, and when the howl dies away there is nothing but a thick blanket of silence as the snow continues to fall around her.

Alone.

The word makes her eyes fill with tears. She is always alone. Her clan, decimated. Her mother, lost to the Blight. Csabae and Ena, killed at the Conclave. And now she sits, in a valley full of snow, alone with the wind and the cold and a howling wolf that no doubt wants her bones.

If death would end this pain and sorrow, then let her die.

Her lips are frozen, and it is all she can do to whisper her prayer.

_Falon’Din, guide me to the next life._

She is so tired. Her eyes are closing, her mind drifting.

_The sound of Corypheus laughing was not unlike the breaking of crystal; a sharp, catching sound that made Shanriel wince and shake her head as she struggled to sit up. A flash of bright light in the night caught her eye, and Shanriel realised it was the signal. The people of Haven were safe._

_She closed her eyes, steeling her heart, before beginning to look for a weapon she could use. There was a sword, just beyond her reach, lying next to the release lever for the trebuchet. In that instant Shanriel made her decision. Whatever happened to her, she would save as many people as she could. Even if this was the last thing she would do._

_Corypheus paused as she struggled to her feet, the bemused expression in his eyes vanishing as she brandished the sword._

_‘You expect me to fight,’ she whispered, and Corypheus leaned towards her to hear her words. ‘But that’s not why I kept you talking.’_

_As his eyes widened, first in surprise and then in understanding, Shanriel turned, bringing the sword down with a defiant shout upon the lever._

_It breaks, and the trebuchet releases, sending a missile towards the mountain above the village._

_She leapt for the ruined bow, snatching it from the snow and running as fast as she could away from Corypheus, away from the dragon, away from the rapidly approaching avalanche._

_Then she fell, and everything went black._

There’s a noise above the wind. Is someone shouting? Is it her? She can’t tell; her mouth has crusted over with ice, as have her eyelashes and her tears, and she cannot move from where she lies, half covered with snow and close to death.

Another shout, this time closer, and a faint sense of light behind her eyelids.

‘Herald! Maker’s breath, it’s her! COMMANDER! We found her!’

Hurried, crunching steps upon the snow, drawing closer. A thud as someone falls to their knees beside her.

‘Shanriel.’

It’s him. He found her.


End file.
